Shall We Dance?
by ElisaWarren
Summary: The San Fransisco Police Department's annual ball brings a strange twist of events for our characters.
1. Chapter One

It was 2:00 P.M. Adrian Monk had just finished vacuuming when Sharona walked in.

"I got your mail," she said, waving a stack of letters. She set all but one of them on the kitchen counter. Holding up one fancy envelope, she said, "Open this one, it looks interesting."

"You went through my mail?" Adrian said, looking violated.

"Oh, relax," Sharona rolled her eyes, "It was on top." Monk carefully opened the envelope, as not to rip it, and pulled out an invitation, which read:

"You and one guest are cordially invited to the San Francisco Police Department's Annual Formal Ball and Banquet..."

Sharona gasped. All her work at Adrian's side was finally paying of. "Oh, Adrian!" she exclaimed, "This'll be so exciting! And I know just what I'm going to wear!"

"Wait a minute," Adrian said, "Who said I was bringing you?" Sharona looked at him as if to say "Who else would supply you with wipes after shaking hands with the entire police department?" "Okay, you can come," he said.

"It's black-tie, Adrian, you'll need a tux," Sharona said.

"I have one," he replied.

"You own a tuxedo?" Sharona asked with disbelief, "Why wouldn't you just rent one?" She knew the answer to this as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Other people have worn it!" Adrian shuddered at this thought.

Days passed, as they often do, and the night of the ball rolled around. At exactly six o'clock, Sharona walked into Adrian's apartment to find him sitting on his couch, not fully dressed. "Adrian!" Sharona exclaimed, "We're going to be late! Why aren't you ready?"

"It's the bowtie," he muttered, "I can't get it straight. I can't go. Everything's ruined."

Sharona rolled her eyes, surprised that they hadn't stuck in the back of her head by now. "Come here," she said. He got up and handed her the bowtie. "I swear, you're like a little kid sometimes." For as many years older Adrian was, at times Sharona viewed him as the little brother she never had. In moments, the bowtie was exactly parallel with the floor and out the door they went. Adrian paused.

"Sharona," he said.

"What now?"

"You look nice." Sharona smiled. She did look very attractive in her sleek-yet-tasteful black beaded gown.

Taking in the compliment, she replied, "Thank you, Adrian."


	2. Chapter Two

They arrived at the ball just on time. Sharona parked the car and they walked in. "Monk, Sharona," called a familiar voice behind them. They turned around to see Captain Stottlemeyer and his wife Karen. The Captain was obviously uncomfortable in his tuxedo, but Karen looked beautiful in her tan brocade gown.

"Karen, you look gorgeous!" Sharona exclaimed, "I love your dress!"

"Thank you, Sharona! You look beautiful too!" Karen replied.

"Women," Stottlemeyer muttered to Monk. "Put 'em in fancy dresses and they go crazy." Karen, overhearing this, shot her husband a look of death.

"Well, at least it isn't like pulling teeth to get us dressed." She retorted. The two women laughed as Sharona relayed Adrian's bowtie crisis.

Sharona looked up to say something to Adrian, but he was looking over her head at someone walking in.

"Randy," the Captain greeted him, "I thought you weren't going to make it." Lieutenant Disher joined the group, alone.

Sharona turned and was oddly surprised when she saw him. He actually looked dignified in a tuxedo- except for the strange expression on his face, and the fact that he was staring at her, again.

Randy was in shock. He had never seen Sharona dressed up before, and although she was always attractive, tonight she looked amazingly beautiful. He could have sworn that he even saw her blush a little when she saw him. A sharp pain in his ribs brought him back to reality.

Stottlemeyer, noticing this, had elbowed the lieutenant in his ribs and gave him a taunting look. "Earth to Lieutenant Disher," he said.

"Um, right. Yeah, I- uh, left a little late." He tried to regain his cool.

"You're alone," Monk noted. The unevenness was killing him.

"Yeah," Randy replied, "She couldn't make it."

"What happened, Randy?" Sharona asked, regaining her tough-as-nails sarcasm, "Your mother stood you up?" She smiled slyly.

"No," Randy shot back, thinking to himself, "Her arthritis is bad when it rains."

"What happened to the wallet model?" Stottlemeyer asked.

"We broke up about a month ago. I know none of you even believed she existed, but it's true." He looked pointedly at Sharona when he said this. Waiting for a sharp comeback, he was slightly surprised when he heard none.

He wasn't the only one who was surprised. Normally, Sharona knew she would say something clever, but for some reason she didn't. Whether it was because the news struck a different chord than she had expected, or because of Randy's pointed stare, she found herself momentarily speechless.


	3. Chapter Three

At eight o'clock, dinner was served. Everything was delicious and the meal progressed without any major incident. Of course, Monk wouldn't touch his food until Sharona wiped off all the silverware and assured him that the plates were steam-cleaned, and Karen picked on her husband's table manners, but aside from that, all went smoothly.

"I can't believe this service!" Sharona exclaimed, "The staff is so professional!"

"It should be," replied the captain, "This is one of the best catering companies in San Francisco. Every waiter and waitress here has been trained probably better than our police dogs."

"Wow," Sharona replied, impressed. The banquet was fully equipped with a jazz band that had been playing for some time. A few couples had begun dancing a while ago, but due to Monk's incredibly slow eating, the group had remained at their table. A familiar Sinatra tune began to fill the room, and Karen gasped.

"Oh! They played this song at our wedding!" She mused, sentimentally. Her husband stood up.

"Would you like to dance?" the captain asked his wife, getting up.

"I'd love to," Karen replied. Sharona smiled, and looked at Adrian, hoping that she wouldn't have to sit this dance out. Just then, one of the waiters tripped, dropping his tray. Adrian cringed at the sound of silverware, plates, and glasses crashing to the floor. He jumped to his feet to attend to the mess.

"Adrian, you don't have to--" Sharona started

"It'll make me feel better," he said, as he rushed to the embarrassed waiter and his pile of broken dishes.

"Looks like you got ditched," Randy chuckled, looking at Sharona.

"At least I was here with someone," she shot back. Randy started to get up. "Don't tell me you're going to leave me all alone here," she started.

"No," he stepped closer to her seat, "I was getting up to ask you to dance."

"Oh." Sharona stood up, and Randy led her too the floor. _This should be interesting. _Sharona thought as they assumed "dance position." Randy never displayed any behavior that wasn't clumsy or awkward. However, when they began to dance, her opinion changed completely. Randy was very light on his feet, and dare she say, debonair.

"Where'd you learn to dance?" She smirked at him.

"I took dance lessons in high school." Sharona stifled a laugh. "Sure, just another way for you to make fun of me."

"No, its just," she started, "I couldn't picture you dancing." She started to laugh again.

_Wow, she's beautiful when she laughs._ Randy was in heaven. He felt like Fred Astaire. Coincidentally, Sharona thought to herself that she felt just like Ginger Rodgers. Her heart raced as he dipped her and the music swelled.

He brought her back up, closer to him. A little startled by this at first, she eased into this new position. She noticed the way he smelled. Usually, in the course of a day's work, he would smell just like the police station- stale coffee and bad air freshener. But tonight, he smelled like clean pressed cotton and just the right amount of cologne. She smiled.

The song ended and Randy dipped Sharona again. They both smiled and applauded the band. Suddenly Randy's face became serious.

"Sharona, I--" he was interrupted by the echo of gunshots in the corridor.


	4. Chapter Four

"Get down!" the captain yelled from the middle of the dance floor. Instinctively, Randy pulled Sharona to the floor and covered her with his arm. Adrian knelt down and covered his head next to the pile of broken dishes. The shooting appeared to be over, and the Captain, Randy, Sharona, Monk and a few other policemen headed to the hallway to investigate the scene.

Sitting on the floor, in pain, was one of the cooks, who had been shot in the leg. There were several bullet holes in the walls. Fortunately, the shooter had terrible aim.

"Are you okay?" The Captain asked the cook. The cook nodded. "Sharona, can you help him?"

"Sure," she replied. She knelt down next to the cook and said "It's okay, I'm a nurse. I can help you."

"What happened here?" The Captain asked as Randy and Monk began to look around.

"I'm not sure," The cook started, wincing as Sharona bandaged his leg. "A man just came in and started shooting. I went outside to see what the commotion was and I got in the way of his fire."

"Let me get this straight," Monk interrupted, "Someone was in here, shooting at absolutely nothing, and you heard it all the way from the kitchen, came all the way around to this hallway, and got shot?" Monk pulled the captain aside, "It just doesn't make sense."

All of a sudden, people started yelling for help inside the banquet hall. "What now?" exclaimed the Captain. He, along with Monk and another officer returned to the hall. They entered to find a crowd of people around where the band was playing. The trumpet player was dead, the cause unknown. There were no wounds and witnesses reported no warning signs- he had just collapsed.

Monk looked around the band area. A half empty glass of water was on the conductor's chair. "How long ago was this refilled?" He asked a trombone player.

"About fifteen minutes before the shooting started," She replied.

Monk pulled the captain aside. "Something's wrong here. I think he was murdered; poisoned by his water glass."

"Take his water to the lab!" The Captain ordered another officer. Monk looked around at the scene as Sharona and Randy entered.

"The paramedics are taking care of the cook," Sharona said. "What happened?"

"The trumpet player is dead." Stottlemeyer replied. "Monk thinks he's been poisoned."

"Are the two connected?" Disher asked.

"I don't know. It doesn't make any sense," replied Monk. "How could a shooter with terrible aim be connected with a poisoning? And why would anyone go after a cook and a trumpet player. What could they possibly have in common?"

Just then, Sharona's cell phone rang. "Hello? What happened? Okay, I'll be right there." She hung up. "That was Benjy's sitter. He got sick. I have to leave."

"I think I'm going to stay here," said Adrian. "Something doesn't add up here, I'm going to look around a little more."

"You can go ahead, Sharona," said the Captain, "I can drive him home."

"I'll walk you to your car," Randy added. "God knows what's out there tonight." They walked through the hallway and out the door. It had gotten colder outside and Sharona shivered, only wearing a thin beaded wrap over her dress. "What am I doing?" Randy exclaimed, "You must be freezing." He quickly took off his jacket and handed it to her.

"Thank you," Sharona said, wrapping it around her shoulders. Randy walked Sharona to her car, and as she opened the door she said, "Thank you for everything." She started to take off the jacket, but Randy stopped her.

"Just keep it for now, I'll get it back tomorrow at the station house." Leaving it at that, he walked away from Sharona's car, wishing he had said more. But, all of a sudden, a twist of fate made Sharona utter ten magical words.

"Randy, my car won't start. Can you drive me home?"

Authors Note: Sorry it took so long for the update! I'm away at college now and I just got my computer! I'll write more often, and hopefully will be done with the story before classes start!


	5. Chapter Five

Randy erased the gigantic grin from his face as he turned around. Seriously, he said, "Sure, my car's that way." He pointed to the other end of the parking garage. Then, unable to resist the urge to say something 'Randy-ish,' he added, "Your car's a piece of crap, you know. You should really just get a new one, considering it breaks down so often."

"Shut up about my car!" Sharona shot back. They eventually reached Randy's car, and upon seeing it, Sharona exclaimed, "And you think my car's a piece of crap!" His car was an ultimate mess. It needed washed, there was garbage on the seats, and some of the upholstery was held together with duct tape.

"At least it runs," Randy retorted. He opened the door for her, and threw some of the newspaper on the passenger seat into the back.

"Adrian would have a field day with your car- if he could even bring himself to go near it." Sharona mocked as she got in.

The car ride was fairly silent. Occasionally Randy would say something that would come out completely wrong, and Sharona would make fun of him. The ride back to Sharona's house seemed unusually long, so Randy pulled out his last defense, talking shop.

"So, what do you think of this case?" He asked.

"I don't know," She replied, her voice sounding tired. Randy sensed the exhaustion in her voice. It had been a long night.

"I hope Benjy feels better," he added, not really thinking about it. This turned Sharona's head. Most of the guys she associated with never acknowledged Benjy's existence, let alone cared about his health.

"Thank you." She replied genuinely. They didn't talk for the rest of the ride, but it was a comfortable silence. He pulled up to Sharona's house and put the car in park.

"I'll walk you to your door," he said.

"You don't have to," Sharona said.

"Well, actually, I do," he replied, "Your door doesn't open from the inside."

Sharona rolled her eyes and mouthed the words "piece of crap" as Randy walked around to her side of the car and let her out. They walked slowly to her door, and stopped at the front porch. Sharona took of Randy's jacket and handed it back to him. "Thank you for this."

Randy suddenly remembered what he was going to say when they were dancing. "Sharona, I--"

"Ow!" Sharona lifted her hand to her eye.

"What's wrong?"

"I have something in my eye! Ow!" She rubbed her eye and contorted her face.

"Well don't rub it, that'll make it worse. Let me see." Randy brought Sharona closer to the porch light and stepped closer to her. He cupped the side of her face with his hand and pulled her eyelid down. He couldn't believe how close he was to her and his heart raced.

Sharona winced at the stinging in her eye. She put her hand on Randy's shoulder to keep her balance. As strange of a position as she was in, she wasn't uncomfortable. She felt a strange sensation in her stomach when Randy put his hand on her cheek, and feeling his breath on her face made her heart skip a beat.

"Yeah, it's an eyelash. I'll get it." He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and used it to get the eyelash out of her eye. "There, it's gone now." She blinked a few times and looked up at him. He gazed into her eyes for a few seconds before he realized that his hand was still on her face. Removing his hand, he simply said. "Good night, Sharona." Even though there was so much more he wanted to say, he felt that leaving then would be best.


	6. Chapter Six

The next day, at the police station, Captain Stottlemeyer sat at his desk and read Lieutenant Disher, Monk, and Sharona the coroner's reports. "Traces of poison were found in the Charles Lowell's bloodstream, and in his mouth, but none was found in the water glass. What do you make of this, Monk?"

"I don't know. If the poison wasn't in the water, would it have been in the food?"

"We've got men checking that out," replied the Captain. "So far, there's been nothing."

"And you're sure the poison was ingested?" asked Disher.

"Positive," replied Stottlemeyer.

"What about the shooting?" asked Sharona.

"We don't know," replied the Captain, "the strange thing is that the shot that hit the cook was fired at close range, but the cook didn't mention a struggle, or being close to the shooter at all. And, our men found the gun under a desk only about four yards away from where the cook was lying."

"Are there any reports on the gun?" Disher asked.

"Yes," replied the captain, "It was registered to Warren Young, the clarinet player. I'd consider him a suspect in the shooting, but he had the perfect alibi. He was playing in the band when the shots were fired. There weren't any prints on the gun, either."

"I can't figure it out," Monk thought out loud. "The band is playing; the trumpeter's fine. We hear the gunshots, the band stops; the cook has been shot, and then the trumpeter is dead. There's poison in his mouth, but nothing he ingested was contaminated. What am I missing?" The question would bother him for the rest of the day.

Later that day, the foursome visited the home of William Young, the clarinet player. "I'm sorry my house is such a mess," William started, "I've been visiting my brother-in-law in the hospital all morning and haven't had time to clean up. Sit down."

"I'd much rather stand," replied Adrian, looking very uncomfortable amidst the clutter. "What do you know about Charles Lowell?"

"It's a shame," replied William. "He was a really good friend of my wife and me." He looked genuine in saying this. "See, there's a picture of us all." He pointed to a photo on the mantel of himself, his wife, Lowell, and a few other band members. On the bottom was engraved 'Christmas, 2003.' Looking at the picture, and straightening it perfectly, Adrian noted that William's wife looked extremely familiar. But he couldn't place her.

"That same night, a cook in the banquet hall was shot with a gun registered in your name," the Captain started. "We know that you didn't fire the gun, but who did?"

"I have no idea," William said, stuttering, "I came home last night and it was missing. It wasn't where I normally kept it, and I couldn't find it anywhere in the house."

"Why didn't you report it?" asked Disher.

"I told you, my brother-in-law is in the hospital, I never got around to it. I just assumed it would turn up eventually. Is that all?"

"One more thing," added Monk, "What's wrong with your marriage?"

"What?" William appeared shocked, "There's nothing wrong! Why would you ask such a thing?"

"You have a book on your coffee table," replied Monk. "Why would a person own a book entitled 'Saving Your Marriage' if his marriage wasn't in trouble?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," replied William. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a lot to do today." He showed them to the door and let them out, slamming it behind them.

"He's the guy," Adrian stated as they walked down the sidewalk. "I don't know how he did it, but he's the guy."

All deciding they were hungry (except Adrian who refused to eat in public,) they headed to a small diner about a block away from William Young's house. After choosing a table, they placed their orders and waited for their food. About ten minutes later, a young waitress headed for their table with a tray full of food. Only four feet from the table, she lost her balance and the tray slipped out of her hands. An older waitress rushed to help her.

"I'm so sorry!" the girl started, looking very panicked.

"Don't worry about it, sweetie," the older waitress replied. "It's only your first day. I remember when I first started I dropped lots of things."

"She just started working here," Adrian repeated slowly. All of a sudden he got that familiar look in his eye and said those seven words that everyone loved to hear: "I think I just solved the case!"


	7. Chapter Seven

"Are you sure?" Stottlemeyer asked as they headed back to William Young's house, with a warrant in tow.

"Positive. It was actually something you said that led me to it. Back at the banquet, Sharona commented on the professionalism of the staff, and you said that the wait staff was better trained than all of the dogs in the police department. The waitress in the diner dropped a tray because it was her first day. Now, how likely is it that a professional waiter, one who's been carrying trays for years, would drop a fairly lightweight tray?"

"You're right!" exclaimed Sharona.

"But what would that have to do with the murder?" Disher asked.

"Nothing," started Monk, "It was only a diversion. The waiter was bribed by William Young to drop the tray just as the song started. The spill was close enough to where the band was playing for the players to notice and look over. The beginning of the song didn't feature the trumpet or the clarinet, but while Charles Lowell was looking at the spill, Young had the perfect opportunity to poison him."

"But the water glass wasn't poisoned," started the Captain.

"He didn't poison his water," Monk said, "He poisoned the mouthpiece of his trumpet!"

"That's genius," replied the Captain. "I'm going to call forensics and get a report on Lowell's trumpet."

"But why would a clarinet player poison a trumpet player?" Sharona asked.

"Because Young's wife was having an affair with Charles Lowell! The picture and the marriage counseling book are evidence of that."

"What does the shooting have to do with that, though?" asked the Captain.

"Another diversion," replied Monk, "Someone else might have known about the affair, and Young's motive to kill Lowell, so Young had to completely eliminate himself as a suspect. So, he got his brother-in-law, the cook, to help him. It's astounding, the resemblance between the cook and his sister. I realized that her picture looked familiar before. Of course, his wife's brother would also want revenge against Lowell, and was easily willing to create a diversion. Young loaned him his gun and instructed him to start shooting in the front hallway. Why else would a cook be so far away from the kitchen? He fired a few random shots in the hallway before gaining the courage to shoot himself in the leg and quickly throwing the gun under the desk before we rushed in."

"Automatically leading us to believe that the same person was responsible for both crimes!" exclaimed Disher. They knocked on William Young's door and he opened it.

"Mr. Young," started the Captain, "We'd like to ask you a few more questions in relation to the murder of--" Before he could finish, William Young began running away. "Stop!" yelled the Captain. The four began running through the house after him. Young reappeared, now carrying a handgun. The Captain and the Lieutenant drew their guns.

Sensing an opportunity for leverage, Young grabbed Sharona by the shoulder and pointed his gun at her. "Put your guns down or she dies!" He commanded.

Sharona's heart raced; she was terrified. She could see that the others were, too. Adrian was frozen in time, unable to move; the Captain looked completely taken aback and genuinely concerned. He started to slowly lower his gun. She looked at Randy, his face was pale and there was fear in his eyes. He lowered his gun as if it were made of lead. It hit her then; how much Randy really cared about her. A pang of sadness interlaced itself with her fear. Their guns were down, but Young wasn't releasing his grip on her shoulder.

Randy's eyes met Sharona's. He could tell the fear in her eyes matched his own. Of all his time in the police force, he couldn't remember ever being more afraid. He was a coward, and the woman he cared the most about was going to suffer for it. All of a sudden, he had an epiphany.

"Our guns are down, Young, let her go!" Randy said, steadily. "You don't want to do this." He moved back, toward the coffee table, praying that Monk and the Captain would follow his lead. A glass trophy was displayed on the coffee table. He picked it up and tossed it back and forth between his hands.

"What are you doing?" Young asked sharply.

"Nice trophy," Randy stated, calmly. He made eye contact with Stottlemeyer, who caught on quickly. _Go long, Monk._ "It'd be a shame if it broke. Broken glass everywhere, what a mess." He tossed it higher in the air.

"Quit it or I'll shoot her!" Young shouted. Randy knew that it was now or never.

"Monk, catch!" he threw the trophy over Young's head to Monk. Young turned his head and moved his gun away from Sharona. Randy lunged at Sharona and pulled her out of the way as Monk caught the trophy. With Sharona a safe distance away, Randy and the Captain picked up their guns and pointed them at Young. "You're under arrest, Mr. Young, for the murder of Charles Lowell. You have the right to remain silent..."

Author's note: Sorry it took so long for the update--classes and homework have been so hectic! I finished the story and will upload the final chapter in a day or so. Sorry if the murder scenario isn't very creative or plausible, I'm good at solving mysteries, but not so good at making them up. Just appreciate it for it's narrative merits, and not all the goofy details. Thanks for all the reviews! You guys are awesome!


	8. Chapter Eight

Later in the evening, Monk, Sharona, Disher, and Stottlemeyer gathered in the police station to wrap up the case. "You were right all along, Monk," said the Captain. "I just got the forensics report on the trumpet. The mouthpiece contained traces of poison and was the trumpet was covered in William Young's fingerprints."

"When will people ever learn?" Monk asked, with a slight air of confidence.

"Don't just stand there, Randy," the Captain said, "We have reports to file."

Randy looked at Sharona and could have sworn he saw her looking at him, too. "Um, in a minute, Captain," he said. "Sharona, can I talk to you outside for a minute?"

She nodded. "I'll be right back, Adrian," she said as Randy led her out the door. It was getting later and the police station was nearly empty, so they found a lonely hallway in which they could talk.

"Are you okay?" Randy asked, "Today was a little scary."

Sharona nodded, "But you were really brave. Thank you for saving my life."

Randy knew he was blushing, "Well, anyone would have done it, I mean--," he saw the way she was looking into his eyes. "I mean, it was nothing. And for the record, I was terrified."

"You didn't show it."

"Sharona, if I lost you- I mean, if _we_- see, what I'm trying to say is--" Sharona had this effect on him. He could recite elaborate speeches, poetry even, in front of his bathroom mirror, but actually in front of her, he was completely lost for words.

"Randy, what?"

Randy's stomach was in knots. He was sick of stuttering and run on sentences and phrases that he never got to finish. Gathering up the remainder of his courage, he concentrated a lifetime's worth of logic and reason into an instant of action. He leaned in and kissed her, running his fingers through her hair.

Sharona pulled away, shocked. She just stared at him confusedly. A million questions and thoughts ran through her mind, but she couldn't find a way to vocalize any of them.

Randy decided words would be good right about then; and since Sharona didn't seem to be planning to say anything anytime soon, he went against his better judgment and started to speak. "Sharona, I--"

He never got to finish his sentence. He didn't care. She was kissing him, and it was the best feeling in the world.

Author's Note: Well, that was it! What did you guys think? Should I write more fanfics?


End file.
